I was a teenage demon dirtbag
by Ellered
Summary: Lady's leaving Dante's life for good, or so they thought. Sometimes, people get too close that they get sensitive. Dante/Trish, Lady/OFC, Lady/OMC, Lady/Vergil, not centered on romance. Warning: Very DARK SATIRICAL humour. If it offends you,dont read.
1. Chapter 1: I was a Teenage Demon Dirtbag

**Title:** I was a teenaged demon dirtbag.

**Rating;** R for some adult situations, language and violence

**Pairings**: Dante/Trish, Lady, with future Lady/OFC, Lady/OMC

**Summary:** Lady finds out, and though she thought it wouldn't hurt her, it did. Maybe she hadn't realized that Dante meant a lot to her, much like family. Much like the family she had thought him to be. But, it hurt so much that it only formed into anger and a long-suffering distance between them, until one day, he comes back into her life by accident.

_-lll-_

* * *

"If I'm so fucking annoying, then why don't you tell me to get the hell out of your life?"

The demon hunter shouts, almost spitting into his face, knowing this, she doesn't give a shit. When has she ever? She's a fucking psycho, wasn't she? She almost growls, her blacked gloved finger tapping against his chest – hard. Several times, and it felt like hitting a solid wall. _Figures_. Dante's like that. _Always been._

She stares unwavering into his face, noting the usual raised white brow, the quirky face and the usual devil-may-care bull he stamps on his face.

"Why should I?" he grins, shrugs, "you're your own woman and you can do whatever you please anyway."

"One thing I hate worse than someone who owes me a lot of money is one who thinks in his thoughts that my presence is always annoying and keeps harbouring this kind of thought throughout, without having the courage to tell me!"

"Tell you? Why? So you can be a bitch again?" he yells back.

She wants to punch him and she does, she tries to because she wants to land a sucker punch to that smug face of his, even when she has not even dared to hurt him since---not since the first time they met. Not since Temin-nu gru.

When she does, her punches are not connecting because Dante's a quick-footed demon, okay, HALF demon. But the world likes to forget he's part human, because god damn it all, everyone loves that demon part of him, and she has even said to him that devils may cry.

How utterly trite. And the asshole just leans back each time, avoiding the blows and laughs. Just like the old days, back in temin-nu gru.

"I'm a fucking psycho to you, aren't I? A crazy ass bitch! Yes I guess I am huh? I heard you talking to Trish the other day before walking in? Was I hurt? No. I don't give two firm asses out of a gay pride parade if you think I'm a walking psycho case from the mental ward. I'm after all, the genetic pool from some long dead priestess who happen chanced to have met your father and the psycho-even-sick fuck who happened to have spawned my blue and red eyes.

"You're crazy, Lady!" Dante yells his growl evident, "I don't know what the fuck I ever saw in you the first time I laid eyes on you."

"I have no clue, Dante. You're the one who acted like some suave cool boy without a shirt on, and asking for a rocket up your ass."

He snarled, his teeth showing, "Ah." His eyes took on a dangerous glint, but she saw the playfulness there, because she's known this half human for too damned long not to recognize it.

"Hey come on, Lady, you're out of line, and I let you get away with a lot of fucking shit."

"Yeah? And why is that, huh?"

"Because I'm not an ass." He had his hand over the back of his head, "Not _that much_ anyway."

"Yeah, no more, fucker!" She curls her hands into fists by her side, then storms away, boots loudly stomping through the floorboards, shoves the front door open so hard that it shatters the glass that was replaced days ago, noting this even for an instance, Lady snarls, "that- can go to the debt you owe me," then giving Dante one last narrowed look, she sneers, "Good bye, Dante. You won't be bothered with me anymore."

She climbs onto her new cherry bike, the fifth one so far, since Dante's had the most inopportune moments—which happen to be during a demon run—ruined them, riding as if anything around them were easy objects to replace.

"You're being really stupid, you know that? STOOPID! You're just hurt cause you found out what I really think of you! Did you expect to have me thinking you're like my baby sister and that I care a lot for you??"

"Yeah yeah," she waves a hand in the air, half fisted and swings her semi-closed fist swiftly back and forth, "wank on this, Dante, and shove it up your ass."

Lady starts up her engine, and revs it up a little more until she is sure that the smoke is forming enough so that when she departs, the curling cloud encases Dante.

Dante waves a hand over his face, "bitch." He says one last time after he's sure she has turned the corner and out of his life. We'll see. He sniffs loudly, "right. You'll be back like always, annoying the crap out of me again."

Trish was leaning against the doorframe for how long, he didn't know but when he saw her, he paused, "She is annoying."

"Yes, well, if you say so," she shrugs, "you think she's for real? That she won't come back?"

"That's a laugh. Lady not coming back? That's not something she does. She loves coming over and making my life a living hell. And she is about the most annoying bitch on this side of …" he snarls, and storms past Trish.

The blonde sashayed herself after Dante, the coolness of her body stopped right behind him, and with her heels, she stood about the same height as her lover. She reaches for his shoulders, attempting a kind of massage along his corded muscles.

"Hey hey I like that…" He chuckles, immensely pleased, grinning, "I should get into fights with that bitch more often."

"You hate her that much huh?" she flicks a tongue along the shell of his ear, and he turns to capture her lips, they kiss a little, tongue and angling profiles enough so they get a suck and noisy smack before departing, because Dante has started to reach for Trish's buttons, wanting to get at those firm tits she kept hidden beneath the corset.

But her Demon looking like Eva familiar pushes him away, "Dante, I think we should talk."

"Aw come on. Not that again, Trish. It's been awhile and with Lady always showing up asking for money or being a bitch again, it's hard to get any alone time with you."

"Dante, I think she's serious. And you really should have told her truthfully how you felt about her."

"Can't," he heaves a sigh, "She – she and I go a long way, before I met you, before I rescued you from Mundus. She and I have been friends for a decade before you and I became partners."

"It's amazing how you never got into her pants." Trish raised a sleek brow.

"Hey I wanted to when I first saw her but that's long past. I realized she's not my type. Too much of a psycho."

"Hmm." Trish nods, still kept that sleek brow high, and now she's got her lips quirking upward on the side, "if she's such a psycho, why's she coming around giving you jobs all the time?"

"Aw come on, Trish, I know exactly where you're going with this. You're trying to make me feel guilty about her leaving. Hey. If she wants to be a bitch as always, that's not my prerogative. If she wants time off from me, good. We need the vacation."

"Dante." She closes her eyes, "call it woman's intuition, but I think she's serious this time."

"Will that be a problem?" he leans in to steal a kiss from her lips and received a generous smack back, full on kiss and then withdraws.

"Trish," He growls softly, "Don't be like this, I'm damned horny and you know it," He pushes his groin against her leather, "let's not talk about Lady. I know she's been with me for a long time, always going off and doing her own thing and comes back only to want money from me."

"And that's why she gives you these, big jobs?"

He chuckles, "the way you say it, like she gives me 'jobs', you know…" he wiggles his brows.

"Dante." Trish's sober look sobers him a little, but not much.

"Yeah, because she can't handle a lot of the jobs anyway, you know that! They concern big bad demons that would slaughter her little human form."

"You still underestimate her." Trish shakes her head.

"She IS human you know. She'll die like my mother did. Just because she has some skill, she thinks she can kill a lot of demons."

"And she has."

"Pfftttt," he blows through his mouth, "with a cannon like that behind her back, it's not a wonder she's not hunched over like an old woman."

Trish rolls her eyes, "You're on a field day on Lady today, it must be nice to finally let it all out, to tell your true feelings about her, after all these years."

"Trish, babe, you know she's a bitch," his fingers trace her sinewy figure, but he knows that Trish has got a body that rocks his socks off, and he's itching to get into those pants of hers, and hoping to get between her legs soon.

"You're on a roll. Keep it up, Dante."

"Trish," He laughs, "I don't exactly hate her, she's…okay, she's just not my type."

"Wait, but she was when you met her right?"

"Well, I was a teenaged dirt bag, _a teenaged demon dirt bag,"_ he corrects lastly.

"Yeah I know she's human. But, she's fought her way to becoming a demon hunter and for a lot of ways, she's quite admirable." Trish saw the look Dante gave her, of something between doubt and laughter, "hey, for a lot of human girls, she's a role model."

"What about you, babe?" he whispers against her cheek and slides his tongue along her earlobe, "You're my kind of role model."

"Yeah," she laughs against his stubbled cheek, "a role model…all right, because I happen to resemble your mother. I'm NOTHING like your mother."

"That's my Oedipus complex showing, babe, and I'm part demon, I don't give a shit of those fucking rumours and bullshit. You're my demon bitch."

"Oh so now I'm a bitch?"

"What, come on now…not like Lady, cause Lady IS the true psycho bitch."

"You're really cruel." She pushes at his chest, "I think you need to cool off."

"Hey come on, babe. Why you getting all defensive over Lady?"

"I happen to be friends with her too you know. She's welcomed me and we've bonded as friends and even shopped plenty of times together."

"So?" he gives her a look of confusion, and looks down at his groin, flicks at it, and grits his teeth, "Fuck, Trish, just come on upstairs and have a couple hours for me, huh? Then we'll talk all you want about how you and Lady bonded."

"I really hate giving into you this way, Dante, but..." she sighs blissfully, a look of seductive allure replaces her once reprimanding expression, "you first, babe."

**_=8=_**

* * *


	2. Chapter 2: He doesn't give a damn

A/N: yes, I disliked Dante's characterization in this because he seems like an asshole, and I know a couple of you hated it and told me over private messaging, but I got inspired to write this in an exaggerated way from the way others see him in certain writings, as to how he sees some of the women in his life. Don't worry, he'll come around. This Lady scene I'm writing is more inspired by the Manga portrayal of her when she was under aged.

_--her boyfriend's a dick_

_he doesn't give a damn about me_

_

* * *

_

**Part II. a.: Lady at sixteen with her friends**.

Private school sucked for some girls, but Lady endured it like a good little girl. She usually got good grades, good scores, the works. It wasn't really hard really. Just do the work and get your work turned in time. Not that hard right. Even if she hung out with the worst company too, the girls who wanted to try out drugs and drink before hitting the legal age. It wasn't really the worst company, but her father thought so.

Little did she know he was just a sanctimonious dick of the century. But that was in the future, and when she recalled the days of her youth, before meeting Dante, she would go off to bars with her girlfriends after class, play a little pool, bend over –keeping her eye on the cue ball—_yes, Mary, dear Mary, keep your eyes on that black and white on the green._

Slam.

_Plunk._

Her friend nudged her for a drink, "Come on, Mary, let's get something to stronger than this." Simona suggested with a wink, leaning against the pool table, her skirt hitched up a little higher on one side—her panty showing the colours of her school.

Mary looked up, her long black bangs obscuring part of her red-eye, the one that everyone at school whispered about. Not that Heterochromia was too unusual, but if one of them had the colour red, well, even the boys shied far away. Green and blue would be fine, and even quite enchanting, but red? Now that shit was freaky weird. All she could attract were goth boys who thought it was cool and wanted to perform rituals with her. She had to tell them to fuck off and only then was she left alone with fat, pimply, creepy boys who picked their noses and stalked behind lampposts and mailboxes wearing hoodies and baggy pants. She could, almost find some kind of solace with her father for that genetic gift. She slammed in another ball into the hole. Mary would have to make sure two balls go in next time.

Placing her cue stick against the wall, she pulled out the bills from her skirt pocket. Her friends were always broke and she had the money, and she didn't mind one bit, handing the row of small notes to Simona.

"Hey," she called out as her friend was departing towards the bartender, "get me a glass too."

She received a wink back, holding the bills in her hand waving, "I'm getting us a bottle, honey."

Mary heaved a sigh, walked towards the juke box and ignored the older boys by the dart corner. They, thankfully, paid no heed to her as she pressed a song.

She watched the record being placed in the center and the needle settled slowly on it. _Her name is Noelle._ Mary returned to the pool table and found two guys standing over the table.

She gritted her teeth—if there was one thing she hated, it was boys who thought they could pick up…

But they weren't there for her, or her friend, they held each other unlike brothers, or like brothers, she wasn't sure, because they smiled at her, the brown-haired boy with the blue eyes grinning, showing generous teeth.

"Hey, mind if we join you two?"

"Yes, I mind." She sniffed, suspicious.

"Told you she'd be a bitch about it." His companion looked bored, and turned away, "come on, let's leave them alone until the table's free."

By then her friend Simona returned with two glasses and a bottle of tequila. Mary narrowed her eyes, "Tequila, Simona? That's really strong stuff."

"It was either that, or vodka." Simona ignored Mary and proceeded to twist the cap off and poured them both generous amounts of that ginger-golden liquid into their glasses. She handed Mary hers, and said, "Bottoms up! Oh and drink it with this."

Simona grabbed a couple of limes which were hidden inside white paper napkins and squeezed the juices into the drink, placing the cut lime atop the rim.

"Come on, Mary, you're always such a wuss about this, drink up." She eyed her friend warily, and gulped down the liquid fast.

With a couple blinks, and seeing how Simona's face had flushed quickly, Mary looked down at her drink and took a deep breath, pinching her nose as she sucked down the tequila.

Her eyes blurred for a second, she blinked rapidly, felt the strength of the scalding liquid go down her throat, tasted the sour lime that made its way down to spread across her chest and make her feel…feel terribly weird.

She could not really describe it but there was absolutely no change except for the fact that the lime was a very strong aftertaste. Simona laughed at her, "I forgot to tell you to lick up some salt."

Mary blinked, felt her eyes water, "Would that have helped?"

"Not really, but it'd taste really good. Let me go get us some. We have an entire bottle for the night."

"Hmm not sure if I can." Mary offered, but her friend was always so insistent and leaned in, giggling, touching her white shirt, and flicking the tie she wore.

"Shut up, I'll make sure it's worth your while," Simona flicked out a hot tongue against Mary's flushed cheek, gently pushing her body against hers, up against the pool table. "Sweet. I love you, honey."

"Simona, not here." Mary blushed, not sure why she cared, her eyes looked across the room to the two guys now sitting leisurely and casting their glances over to them. One of them snorted and sent her a narrowed look, taking the drink in his hand and downed it.

The bartender from the bar was scrubbing the clean glasses and sent them a sidelong look, and there was a chubby boy there, or was it a man-- she was not sure. He had dark, sort of greasy hair and a kind of wimpy and perverted look about him.

But she thought of it no more as Simona offered more tequila, more golden-ginger warm and fiery drink that singed their throats and the lime that tickled her taste buds, finding the salt that would calm after the storm.

Simona was always aggressive, and she didn't mind it really, because she liked the way she felt when her tongue pressed against her mouth, urging her to open, opened her mouth until they were kissing urgently in the open, feeling the press of their breasts against the white once starched uniform.

When it was late, Simona was always too drunk to move. Too drunk to care, and was throwing up on the floor. It was embarrassing. Mary tried to console her with cool cloths and held her at first, but left her friend against the wall. Simona had her knees up at first and her legs spread unladylike, her shirt undone. The first two buttons disappeared, and her skirt, was soiled, had touched the pile of vomit next to her

Mary walked over to the bar, asked quietly and politely, "May I have a drink of water for my friend?"

The bartender shook his head at her friend's dilemma, "here you go, darling, you can have her rest up for a bit, I have some aspirins or if she wants something stronger, I may have to make it for you in a bit."

"That's all right. I think we're fine. She'll shake it off eventually." Mary sent him a smile.

When she looked outside, nightfall was upon them and what looked like bats flew towards the streaking pink and purple sky.

_Oh yeah – she doesn't know what she's missing._

part II b. Mary: He doesn't give a damn about me.

She ended up taking Simona to her house, the great big manor up on that hill, next to the willow dripping tree. She called a cab and the driver pulled up by the round curving driveway, in front of the double doors.

Her father was in the laboratory, as usual. The dark long shadows stretched, looking like a creepy villainous movie, and her home during the day was like the flowery, spring day when the sun shafts through the long windows. But at night, the shadows ruled.

She didn't even bother to ask her father, but her mother was in the kitchen, making tea and biscuits, smiled and turned as she heard Mary stumbling in with Simona. Simona had her body slumped against Mary's frame.

Kalina Ann smiled, "She's staying over?" she simply said, "I can make a warm bed ready for her."

"Thanks, mother." Mary smiled back.

"Oh Mary." She heard her mother call from the kitchen as she was making her way up the stairs.

"Yeah?"

"You did inform her parents right?"

"Not really, but I'll do that."

"Good." Kalina Ann said, looking at her from the doorway, "If you would like, I can do it for you."

"That'd be nice, mother." And proceeded to drag Simona up the long winding stairway, passing the windows and watching the night sky; she would be glad to rest and hurry with something to eat.

In the room, she placed the girl on her bed, took the shoes off, stockings, and the smelly skirt, undid the rest of the buttons of the soiled white shirt, placing it inside the laundry bin, closing the lid.

When Simona was left with just her panties and bra, she moved almost deliciously into the comfortable soft and fluffy blanket, sniffed against the sheets and curled her fingers into the bed.

She stared up at Mary. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.

"Shhh…" Mary said, "My mother will call your parents and you can stay here and rest until your head clears."

"Thanks, my darling Mary, sweetheart." Simona slurred, saying more endearments, and softly placed a hand to Mary's warm face, "My parents would kill me if they knew."

"I know."

Mary later crawled into bed with Simona, after telling her mother that her friend would be fine here.

Simona turned over and cuddled close to her friend, her hand reaching over to bring it over Mary's breast, "beautiful," she murmured against Mary's neck.

"Simona, get some sleep."

"Think you'll ever lose your virginity, Mary?"

Mary laughed. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"I lost mine, you know. It was not what I expected. But I want to be your first."

Mary looked at her friend in the dark, smelt the faint tequila scent on her breath, "Shut up and go to sleep, Simona."

_"I'm just a teenaged dirtbag_…" Simona sang against Mary's ear, softly cooing, "_Oh she doesn't know what she's missing."_

"You're crazy." Mary shook her head, but she was allowing Simona to touch her beneath the night dress, flicking softly the nipples that hardened.

"MMmm and you know I love you, forever and _forever, _Mary."

"And you're still drunk."

"Guys are jerks, remember that."

"Simona, if you don't shut up I'll throw you out."

But she was smiling at her friend in the dark.

And they kissed softly, their lips felt pliant and soothing as they tasted the toothpaste and the lime that stuck.

"I'm not a man-hater, Simona."

"I know, but you'll see. You'll see how they are."

"Did – did the guy that took your virginity…did he?" Mary was hesitant to ask directly, but she had to know. Simona was open about things, but she wasn't either.

"Was he rough? You mean?" Simona's voice was scathing, dripping with scorn.

"Yeah." She whispered, quieted.

"He left me crying."

"Oh Simona," Mary said, holding her close, kissing her lips, her cheeks, and felt no tear there. Just warm skin and the smell of sour alcohol and faint toothpaste.


	3. Chapter 3: She gives a damn

**Part a. Trish likes it kinky too: Dante and Trish.**

**_=8=_**

When Trish was born, she was given all the benefits of Eva's 'essence', but technically, and most especially she was not ever, never ever be the mother replacement.

Everyone that knew her thought she was the reincarnated woman who bore the resemblance of Eva. Beautiful long bright blonde hair, intelligent blue eyes, round and slightly slants when she wants to be wicked and creatively disobedient. And she should thank the gods and demons that made her in this form, or thank Eva for having such a lovely figure.

She even wondered what sex was like with Sparda. Lucky Eva.

If Mundus created her, he should've known one basic rule: she was created from a very wicked god, and thus, all wicked things should know all their creations would turn on them eventually. Her puppet strings were snipped when he gave her the will and forceful nature of a woman who knew independence.

She was made from the fiery emblem of strong magic and dark imagination. Leather and flesh came about, long legs, gentle ankles, and a pair of breasts with nipples that hardened like rocks. She often flicked them when she was naked, wondering in the feel and vitality of their reaction. She liked it so much when Dante sucked them, sucked them hard, pulled at them hard enough so that they protruded and turned from pale pink to a rash red.

She liked the feel of her vagina too, the soft folds and the way it feels when she inserted a finger in, and even more wondrous when a cock pushes in with all their glorious hardness that comes from the blood alone. She was impressed, despite herself, at the cock between Dante's legs, and reveled at the lovely hardened strength of it. She decided that the taste of his come was decent enough, and almost pizza to the flavour – all that cheese and pepperoni got to this blood system she supposed. Trish's favourite sexual position was on her knees or when she was pushed up against the wall with her legs wrapped around Dante.

When she helped the demon hunter through Mundus's maze and illusionary castle, she was glad when the world was filled with wonder and fresh beauty. She took it all in like a newborn baby, had lived in the squalor of demonic beings who tried to scorn her image. She was after all, the vision of Eva, without the Victorian beauty and pallor, without the dark mascara and leather that clung to her infant skin.

And when she met Lady, she felt, first, the inner flair of something familiar: a tinge of jealousy. It was the first time she felt it and she knew where it came from: she was possessive of Dante, like any best friend who thinks their buddy will leave them for another –finding solace and friendship in another and forget all about them. Or that type of jealousy that is common and anticipated: she'll be abandoned like an orphan in the wild world of ferocious humans and ignored completely when Dante goes off with Lady.

But that wasn't the case. Dante had been very non-chalant about Lady's company, told her that Lady is a human first and foremost and to be careful with her. When he told her that, Trish was suspicious.

"So you like her?" She had said, shifting through a woman's magazine for fun, but her brain wasn't focused on the fashion- she just simply wanted to know.

She found out that Lady and him, well—they had a few sexual encounters, but only when Lady was drunk as hell, and assented to it. Dante and Lady just didn't mix in a relationship really, and she has been hurt way too many times by past relationships to actually hold down a long term one.

And when she finally slept with Lady, did she find out how delicious the delectable human was to the touch-- how lovely her nipples felt against her skin, her mouth, her moist heat like a clinging and delicious ambrosia.

Even when she was in Lady's arms, she could tell that the woman was lonely and filled with a kind of aching longing that begged to be held like a child. Trish knew that it was, perhaps a father image thing. Maybe that Kalina Ann instrument that could topple an entire building was the figurehead of all Lady's problems.

She missed Lady's touches. But she knew that their relationship was temporary.

With Dante, there was a permanent thing going on and she could revel in the fact that he was a damn good fuck. He sweated like a pig after several hours of fucking, but she attested that to his human side, while she was cool to the touch, but hot down there—hot between her thighs and graced with an even hotter tongue, that liked to lick his balls and slick along the length of his cock.

She had asked him one day if Lady had been a good fuck.

Dante scoffed at her, his hands were handcuffed to the bed posts, naked to her every torture.

He was hard as always, and she had sucked him until he came and came. And left him aching for more. That was when she had asked him if sex with Lady was good, or just as good.

"What the fuck, Trish?" He told her, "Why do you want to know?"

"Because, she was good to me, and I want to know if sex with her was just as exciting."

Trish had braced the long whip across her teeth, grazed it with her tongue and slicked the cat tail end along Dante's skin, found the redness beautiful and tender after a few good flicks.

"Yeah, she was good. But she doesn't want anything to do with me, and to tell you the truth, I like having sex with you. She was crazy."

"Crazy? Like this?" Trish flicked the cat tail against his balls and Dante winced, gritted his teeth and growled.

"That's fucked up, do it again." Dante grinned, "You're a different kind of crazy. Lady would get all psycho on me if I didn't drive into her hard enough."

Trish had raised her brow at him then, was curious, "Really? That's quite interesting because," she wiggled her body along the length of the demon hunter, glad to be wearing the leather bra and panties, too tiny to even consider wearing, but Dante liked the funky atmosphere with sex.

She liked it too, _a little too much_…

There had been a jukebox in his room then. Trish would get up from the bed, leaving Dante with the handcuffs and the reddened balls, the rock-hard cock against his taut belly, the glossy, sticky pre-come smearing all over him, and he merely watched.

She pressed her finger at the only song that was available. The other records had been broken from the crash and burn from last week's demon demolition, leaving only one song.

_Listen to Iron Maiden with me…._

She sighed. She wished she could listen to some Iron Maiden but Dante's everyday bout of destruction left her with many records in no condition to play. Except for this one, quite strangely.

"You know," Trish finally said, turning to the naked half human on the bed, "You could always get a CD player." Not that was any better really…

"_Right_. That's impervious to my sword." He had said that with a lift of his groin.

Ah. Trish liked Dante's cock.

Beautiful. Just simply _beautiful._

"I'd like you to fuck me in the ass tonight, Dante."

She got a nice fat grin for that one. The smug bastard.

_Her boyfriend's a dick. _

**Part b. Lady and Dante way back then.**

**_=4=_**

Lady lost her virginity naturally, but it wasn't to Dante.

She had been glad for that, because the half human was simply too large for a first timer. At least, that's what she thought.

She drank like a fish the night they first fumbled for each-other. It was sloppy and slobbery at first and Dante didn't kiss very well drunk. He grabbed her roughly, saying the worst lines. He was cheesy all the way through. Like a goddamn nineteen-eighties flick, without the proper fairy tale.

He kissed her harshly, too eager, and he was a loud fucker when he grunted against her pelvis. Bumped and fucked her fast, and came much too quick. He had fallen asleep against her shoulder and she had to growl against his cheek to get him off her but he snored and he had been so heavy.

She was too drunk at the time, had felt his body messily atop her—sweating and smelly.

When he had come to in the morning she treated him to a generous whip against his ass that he had yelped and howled and flung off her. Naked, he was left to endure a pair of cold twin guns facing his torso.

"Fucker! My hands can't feel a goddamn thing, and I'm forcing myself to move them!"

"What the fuck is your problem, Lady?" He growled and was scratching his messy white hair, his cock hard from the first morning of that day, then the shots were fired.

She hadn't sent the bullets into his flesh, as usual when they were arguing, and fighting like cats and dogs, but he was running around grabbing a pair of underwear off the floor and tripping along the bedroom, swiping around for something else to wear.

She was naked 'cept for those twin guns, and she had been standing on his bed, spread legs and all. Damn him for thinking of fucking her right then and there, but staring into the barrel of those twin pistols sent him merrily off. He just didn't feel like eating bullets in the morning.

The door slammed behind him and he had the first inkling of a hangover from last night's fiasco. Shit. What the fuck?

"HEY!" He yelled.

He turned around then, his fist against the door, "You're in my room, Lady!"

Fuck!

_Why does she give a damn about me anyway?_

**_Part c. Lady and Simona_**

**_=7=_**

Simona had been_, technically_ her first. They had giggled about buying a strap on, and Lady wasn't having any of it really. She was simply too dominant by nature. She wanted to fuck Simona. Not the other way around.

Simona wasn't beautiful really, not like a beauty queen, but she was _real_. Long curling brown hair, bigger breasts, almost a size bigger than hers, and her thighs had been soft and round, brown against her pale skin.

Mary looked too gothic for her tastes. She hated her looks. It was pale and the charcoal colour of her hair simply made it worse. The spiky black-- looking inky against the translucent skin--it was this that she hardly ever wore lipstick. They'd mistake her for some goth chick. Maybe think she was one of those suicidal chicks that liked to cry for attention and slash her wrists—barely touching the vein. Must be the northern climate, or her father's genetics, and she tried to forget the eyes that resembled Arkham.

She tried to shut out the image of her own mother beneath her father, grunting and rutting behind the bedroom doors, but they were loud. Quite loud. It made Mary feel sick to her stomach, that she had to leave the manor.

Glad to be with Simona that day too, because Simona had suggested buying a strap on and Mary had to choose the size of the cock.

That sent her blushing.

"I don't know, Simona." She told her, and the girl's insistence was infectious, receiving a generous kiss against her cheek, "Sweetheart, you can try it on me first. I'll know how big I'd like it in me."

They had spotted one of those sex shops, with edible panties and cock sizes of all shapes and girth. It was at first quite laughable, because the gear was just too crazy to touch. They came in all shapes and colours, and the neon ones were funny too. Simona found the right size in the end, flinging the cock around like a rubber chicken.

"Look, this one is great. I think my last boyfriend had this one."

"You mean he was that big?" Lady smirked, was downright amused. They were actually going to embark on this, and where would they go? To her parent's? Where they were probably still grinding and grunting?

Simona fished out some money out of her purse, "I've got this one, baby." She held up a hand, before Mary could take out any of her cash from her pockets.

When they walked out of that sex shop, they held hands and giggled against each other's face, feeling the first flush of the day's adventure. There were rows of tattoo shops along the way, and Simona wanted to get one. "Come on, Mary, let's you and me try it out!"

Mary shook her head, "Wow, don't you think we should plan that one out?"

"Nope, where's your spontaneity, darling Mary?"

Mary realized that she gave into Simona's wishes and desires, and was later on her front, breasts smashed, on old leather--the tattoo man with the long greasy hair grinning at her. He held that needle above her skin, and the pain was bearable when she could think of what she would get in the end: _Iron Maiden in little black adder letters, and flying record around it._

She stood up, naked, didn't care if she was naked in front of a greasy stranger. Turned around to look at herself in the mirror: _God fucking damn!_ It looked beautiful on her ass.

But it hurt like fucking hell.


	4. Chapter 4: Parental Issues

**_=8=_**

**_Issues, Parental related_**

* * *

_Listen to Iron Maiden...with me._

There are some who say that the way to a person's innate character was through their parental guidance and upbringing. There are people in the world that have mother and father issues. That much is true. But with Dante, an observer of character, such as perhaps a professional psychiatrist would place him in the category of having mother issues. Well, he is absolutely in denial. That big sword behind his back that he carries, would also place him having penis issues as well. Ah hell no, he'll tell you, that's reserved for those men who own big trucks and big toys, because they're trying to compensate. Typical. No, no, he would have none of that.

He was most certainly not a tiny man, nor was he tiny down there, yes, ladies and gentlemen, not tiny down there. He could grab hold of his purple guitar, swing a few songs and shake his ass like Shakira, or grind his hips back and forth like the King, but he was never, ever small. His former and current lover Nevan, was still prowling around behind his guitar collection. If he felt like it, he could patch up a few songs and sing a nice tune but he had to make sure that Trish was out of the establishment first. She didn't want to witness the severe cheesiness of his performance. It was just too much to ask.

He refuses to believe that he had mommy issues. He refuses it so much that he walked out of the doctor's office one day, carrying that big Rebellion blade on his back. Dante did not want to go visit a psychiatrist at first. He thought these guys were all blubbering quacks. But, his friend Enzo insisted, and though the fat, creepy beer-bellied old friend was full of shit most of the time, Dante gave in after he had lost to a bet. What that bet was, no one really knows.

Scene one: When Dante had entered the psychiatrist's office, it was bathed in a soft light, but the doctor was sitting behind the desk, with the lights dimmed low and bookshelves on various teachings of fucked up cases sat idly behind. He snorted at the doc's shadow, and when the said doctor finally emerged from behind the desk, he was taken aback at the image he was not expecting. She was dazzling. Gorgeous for a quack, that was for sure.

And Presently: He snorts inelegantly, rubbing his nose with an index finger, looks for a comfortable sitting place. He throws his body up in the air and lands loudly on one of the doctor's leather wear. He sits back nonchalantly against the big leather brown chair, and because it's customary to his character, he places his cowboy boots atop the professional woman's desk. Just one _Plunk_ed noise. He sits his one booted feet atop his other.

"Ahem," the doctor says, coughing into the mouth with a fist, "Dante Sparda I presume?"

"Nope! Sparda's my father's name. _Not my last name_."

"Oh?" She came into the light more, leaning down, her features sharp, looking very much like Trish. She's got light brown mousy hair, but it's her features which stood out, with red- red ruby lips plump and slick and wet, looking like it's been dumped in olive oil and filled with collagen. Her baby blues are just like Trish's too. Sharp strong nose, and beautiful as fuck.

He felt a twitch of hardness between his thighs. _Ah fuck. It's all Trish's fault. Why does he see his mother's resemblance everywhere? Damn that photo! Maybe that photo of Eva was wrong? It's dad's fault really. It's his fault! Did Vergil have this problem too? Or is it just me?_

She folds her arms then, sent him one elegant brow, fiercely arching up near her hairline. Definitely not pleased, but took out her folder out, and he notices that she's wearing her nails plum like Nevan.

_Ah Damn. Nevan and Trish. Damn._ His groin's tight against his jeans, uncomfortable now. _Why must he be a horny bastard all the time?_ It's a good thing he can fuck anything really. Demons, witches, humans, no matter the gender. It provided him with a lot of opportunities for good sex. He reaches down to his pants and pull at the jean material, twitching a little, moving his legs so.

When she notices she smacks the boots off her desk, "Please, mister Dante, I do not tolerate boots on my desk."

"Whatever you say, babe." He winks at her, and it was kind of an involuntary reaction. He meant no harm by it but she stiffened, and her eyes bore into his.

"Mister Dante with no specific last name, may I remind you that this is a professional office?"

"Yeah yeah," he waves his hand, "just tell me what's wrong with me, doc."

She heaves a sigh, "All right, now it says on your file that you have these mother issues?"

"WHAT?" He sat up straight, "Did that Enzo say that about me? I'll…." He wants to grit his teeth and run out of that office because this is pure bullshit. But, her eyes, those baby blues, and those sharp beautiful features_. Like his mother._

"Maybe," he sighs, "maybe I do have mother issues."

"Now, let's talk about your childhood…" She asks quietly, "what was it like?"

He leans back on the leather, his hands are now clasped together, and he tries very hard to recall again those harsh memories of his mother.

"She was….i remember very beautiful…like you….like my partner Trish."

"What did she look like?"

"I have her photo on my desk. She's long and lean, but athletically strong. You know, strong thighs, lithe, gorgeous all around…kind of like you."

He looks at her and she raises a brow, and notices that she starts to fidget on her collar, "Ahem, well I suppose that's a compliment."

---

When Lady first saw Vergil, she was still pissed off at her daddy. Okay, she came to terms that she had some serious daddy issues. And you know, she realizes deep inside of her that these daddy issues weren't working well with Dante. He had mommy issues, and all he could do was think of his mother while he fucked her drunk. How did she know this? He had a photo of his mother right there by the bed stand. It was creepy at first, but then so was having his mother's photo in the shower room too. So much for borrowing his bathroom. When she took her first dump in Dante's toilet, she tried to focus on finishing the act, but her eyes opened slowly, to find herself face to face with Eva's photo on the wall opposite.

She froze. Literally. It was weird. She hurriedly pushed the offending feces off her body and wiped herself clean. Stood up, wiggled her panties back on and flushed the toilet. When she had confronted Dante that the photo of his mother was on the wall, he shrugged.

---

Lady's the type who wants things settled. Once and for all.

His reply?

"Babe, I had to make sure I never forget my mother's face. So I made copies, reprints of her face and placed it every room."

Trish leans against the desk filing her nails, and blowing a piece of bubble gum. She just harumpfed to herself loudly.

"But," Lady sputters, "You already have Trish." Then receives a glare from the blond demon.

Dante merely shrugs and walks into the kitchen mumbling something about needing food for his belly and thirsty for tomato juice. It had lots of good stuff in it. Lots of vitamins.

"Now hold on there, Lady," defends Trish, "I don't exactly look like her. I only _bear a resemblance to_ Eva. I'm more…let's just say, much more unique. I'm not a clone, because I'm an individual. Mundus only made one of Eva's familiar. But I'm different. I can do this!" She set her file down on the table as elegantly as she could, and lifts her one arm up, her fingers curled delicately in the air.

In no time, she twirls fast, and a beautiful dark-skinned woman took her place. She wears this flouncy neat trimmed white wig, and her eyes are intensely white, _so white_ she looks like a blind woman.

But hell, she's sex on a pair of legs. Her body looks like an hour glass and she did the splits just now, toes out, like no tomorrow, partially showing off her clit. Trish twirls one more time for good measure, showing off her black beautiful shapely ass, "You like?"

Lady blinks. "Wow. That's wow!" She's speechless. "Does Dante know?"

"Not yet, but soon. I'll reveal everything soon." Trish winks, "Just call me Gloria when I'm in this mode."

_but he doesn't know who I really am..._

---

When Lady first saw Vergil, she had been on her way to killing the worst possible human ever to live. Well, so she thought until she was hoping that daddy dearest was telling the truth about Vergil. Okay, so she was a gullible fool to ever believe that her daddy who just killed her mother would actually be demon possessed by Vergil.

When Lady first made contact with Vergil, he was not exactly hot or cold, but his voice was pure steel –telling her in so little words that she's such a little fool for believing, for hoping.

"You really believe that bullshit?" was what he would have said in translation. But he spoke like some guy from the Victorian high society, or those gentlemen who visited men's club and only wore dark pressed suits, expensive cheroots between his lips, and indulged in a bit of glossy hair saloon gel.

Damn her for being such a fool.

Well that was a decade ago and the poor sod chose hell. When she meets him again, it was through a portal, because she decided to see if her father was really down there. Really really down there.

When she crosses the bridge past the hell's hounds and the flying harpies, she saw him.

"Mary? You're either really foolish or just simply dim-witted." He gazed at her like that usual, laconic steely – you're too menial for my attention kind of look – but he looked at everyone like that anyway.

"Just wanted to know if my father was around."

"Then it must be the latter." He's still pompous as ever.

Instead of skewering her, which she presumes in her head he would, he simply shrugs, "Your father's going through the wringer…_again._"

"Wringer?"

He still wears his blue shiny jacket, with those elaborate mid-century snake designs on it. Not a scratch or tear. "Yes, he's first boiled alive, then skewered, and lastly goes through a rolling machine filled with hot spikes and spoon-fed through like a pancake."

Surprisingly, Lady smiles.

Vergil sees this.

"Sadism suits you."

"You think so?" Lady smiles wider.

He sees this again, eyes her warily, and takes a deep breath, "You are not welcomed here, so I suggest you return to that portal you made with your precious blood, and therefore, give my regards to my brother."

"I want to see." She walks up to him, stops him with a hand on his arm, crinkles his sleeve. She sees his face, like a stoned pale statue of cold-blue ice.

"Thou shalt not touch, Mary."

"My name is Lady."

"Yes, so I heard. But you're Mary to me."

"Why? Because Dante named me?"

"I find it interesting that you would take after my brother's name for yourself. No originality, Mary. All right. Lady then it is." He straightens, "If you so want to see your father, so gravely, I shall coddle your wishes."

Then she knew, _Lady knew_, that Vergil's the one. Even if she abhorred the thought. He's more than Dante in every way possible. It pains her to admit it, but everything her daddy was and had been, was through Vergil.

Later, much _much_ later, after a series of sights that she was subjected to see, those sights of demons eating upon her daddy's flesh, and spitting out his cock, she was left breathing hard, and the sweat tickled along her exposed skin. She could barely breathe in this realm, but the slickness of her body and the spread of her legs were wrapped around Vergil's pale, almost shiny perspired but beautifully sculpted and clean body. He pinned and stabbed his rigid body like a methodical lover into her, and she cried out against his cheek, felt his sweat trickle along her lips and into her mouth. She screamed like she could never do with Dante. She screamed like a whore calling out her daddy.

Yes, she had daddy issues.

_Her lips start to shake._

----

When Lady left Simona, she got together with another guy, who actually stole her virginity. She smoked cigarettes with him, drank the best Scottish whiskey and sipped on plum wine. It was all a phase really.

She was aggressive with him, tore his shirt off, and kissed him soundly. But it never occurred to Mary then that this first love of hers had been Simona's ex boyfriend.

Simona and the ex boyfriend met again, after strange circumstances, and the sharp look her old girlfriend sent her was cruel. She almost stood back from the harshness of it.

"I see that you've been acquainted with my ex boyfriend's dick."

"Simona, stop it." Her boyfriend warned, but no one could stop Simona when she was jealous. She took out that gun from the depths of her big tote bag, and shot him.

Mary cried out. She bent over him and cried, the tears fell quickly. God! She lost another man in her life. She was sure this one; this one was her replacement for her father's lack.

No, no, no….the litany of those words tore into her and she stood up, eyes blurring with rage and slapped Simona.

Mary called the cops, had her arrested, saw the face of her former lover with dark streaks of mascara running down the sun-brown cheeks.

It was the last time she saw Simona.

--

She never did find another lover for a long time who fulfilled her _problems_.

Not until Vergil.

The finality of that was startling. Crazy mad startling. It was hell in a basket. He did everything her daddy used to do, when she thought Arkham treated her mother and daughter with careful methodical care. It was all a farce. Vergil represented all that and much _much more._

Even as she got on her hands and knees and told him to do it. He told her simply that he didn't like to take her like a dog. He was too above that.

"On one condition." He said to her in that pacifying manner, his cock rigid against her skin. His fingers grabbing hold of a handful of her spiky black hair.

"Vergil _please_," she panted then. She really couldn't stand the fact that her loins screamed for his already hard partially demonic penis, because the way he sexed her, was…_was so different. So fatherly._

The thought made her want to puke her guts out.

"I shall call you Mary when I subject myself in this position." He had settled his elegant fingers softly along her naked ass.

"Fucker." She whimpered. "Okay fine."

With one swift move, like a Yamato sliding back into its sheath, he planted his cock deep. He even allowed himself to groan a little. Vergil never made love, no, _nay_, he wasn't like that. He did everything methodical and planned. Much like a scientist or a, philosphical inventor, with carefully calculated moves. Even down to his orgasm.

"Mary," he said in that seductive tone, in that sadistic way of his, leaned his body over hers, his mouth against her sweating dark tendrils.

"Oh my fucking god! Daddy!" was all she could say while bucking her ass against him.

And Vergil repeated the process. He grinned the entire time, and if someone could place a flashlight underneath his chin, he'd look quite freaky and eerie.

_Fucking sadistic bastard._

----

Dante eventually started to make long sweet love to the doctor, and it paid off, so he thought. Because she made sure to make a series of tests on him so he would not have so many mommy issues.

"Your desire to have your mother be there for you, when she wasn't was a hole in the depths of your heart and your….cock." She said to him as she pushed her hips back.

"Yes, oh yes, babe, oh wow, you're so fucking gooood." Dante murmured against his doctor's lips, creating a chaotic tempo of hip smashing and cock burying up and down, sliding out and in.

"Listen, Dante," she cooed against his ear, holding him close, her fingers tracing his hair, "You shall forget this nonsense of your mother's face and try and focus on loving your partners without her presence on your every fibered soul. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

"Mmmm," he growled slowly, "I'm gonna come, babe."

Dante had a one track mind.

_He wasn't a teenaged demon dirtbag anymore, but he was a dirtbag when it came to sex. _

_--_

When Dante gets home, he is met with a mad-crazy demoness with long blond hair, black leather, with her throwing the motorcycle. He barely dodges away.

"What the fuck!? Trish!" He's livid and shocked.

"I could take anything, Dante." She says to him in that cool, sultry voice, her hands on her hips, "I could take you having sex with your secret succubus Nevan, take the fact that you can shove your cock in some young man's ass, in fact several men! And you like 'em young too. And I like watching as well." She licks her lips at the memory but remembers why she threw the bike at him.

She stares down at him with those baby blues.

"But making love to a woman who looks like your mother?" She bit her lip, and a pained expression replaces her anger. Shaking her head, she reaches up with a hand to massage her forehead, "What about me? Was I not enough?"

Dante sighs in that room—a long hollow sigh – and he stands up, his eyes warily searching for anymore motorcycles. He finally reaches to Trish, reaches with a shaking hand and touches the lone tear that falls in slow motion down her porcelain cheeks. If his mother were alive...god damn. She'd look like this.

"I love you like I did my mother, Trish."

Her lips shook.

"Dante," she whispers hoarsely, "That's the most beautiful thing you've ever said to me."

They kiss. Roughly.

---

Later, _much much later_, they were in the bedroom, breaking the springs on the mattress and creating holes in the wall.

He screamed out something incoherent and blubbering something parental during orgasm.

"OH MOMMY!"

The photo of Eva fell on the floor, the glass shattered. Trish jerked her face up to look at him. "What the fuck?"

_Lo and behold._

_This must be fate._

Shit. He had mother issues still.

--

_**the end.**_

_and that concludes this very dark, satirical crack! ficlet._


End file.
